


Reaping Blues

by Yeomanrand



Series: Rand's Fic Promptly Fills [5]
Category: Grimm (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, Mystery Character(s), POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Strange Friendships, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the fic_promptly prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, pool pals</p><p>Teaser: <i>"I know your kind," Eddie Monroe said, leaning over the table and taking a careful bead on the cue ball. "And more importantly, I know </i>you<i>. So thanks, but no thanks."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaping Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juliet316](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliet316/gifts).



"I know your kind," Eddie Monroe says, leaning over the table and taking a careful bead on the cue ball. "And more importantly, I know _you_. So thanks, but no thanks."

His opponent stands just off the left corner pocket, pin-neat in comparison with Monroe's more casual attire. He folded his suit jacket and laid it across a chair when he arrived. His cane rests on the same chair. Just a cane, a stick of wood, and far from the deadliest weapon in the man's arsenal but Monroe still treats it with the same respect he'd show a loaded shotgun.

"Eddie," he says, voice smooth as silk, and just at the moment Monroe strikes the ball with the cue. He expected the maneuver, so his name in silken tones only throws his aim off a little. "If you know me, then you know I keep my deals."

"And those deals come with a price, one I'm not up for paying," Eddie says, watching the balls scatter; the two and the ten sink. They study the table; Monroe keenly aware of the little curl of a smile that should look pleasant and remains one of the most menacing expressions the Blutbad has ever seen. Which, really, is saying something. 

"Solid."

"Quid pro quo." Long-fingered hands wrap around the cue as though it were a replacement cane, dark eyes glittering over a hawk-like nose over thin lips holding their crooked smile. "All I would want in return is a favor of my own, some day."

"Five ball, corner pocket." Monroe takes his shot and straightens up, takes a sip from his bottle of ginger beer, and shakes his head. "An open-ended favor hanging over my head just sounds like a bad idea. Besides -- he's a nuisance, but...I don't know." He leans over the table again, lining up on the seven after tapping the pocket in front of his opponent.

"It's nice to be needed."

Monroe looks up into eyes gone wide and gold and nodded. "Yeah." He makes his shot and leans back to survey the table.

"The Reapers messed with the wrong Blutbad," he says. The smile he gets in return is positively feral, matching his own.

"If you should come to grief at their hands, I'll know. And I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"I'm not making deals, Rumpl--Gold." Monroe says, bending down to check the lie of the three.

"Not a deal, Edward." Monroe looks up into a face gone hard, into eyes gone new-moon dark. "A promise. The Reapers, and your Grimm."

A shimmer of dread raises Monroe's literal hackles, and he growls. "I can take care of myself."

"See to it that you do."

They stare, half-challenging. And look away simultaneously, Monroe shaking his head to clear it, Gold glancing down at his white-knuckled hands on the cue. A moment passes, recovery, and when Monroe calls his shot they're a clock repairman and an antiques dealer again.

"When you go back where you belong --"

" _If_ ," Gold says, the familiar mocking curl of his lips back in place.

" _When_ ," Monroe says, just as firmly. "I'm not sure I'll miss this."

Gold laughs his brittle metallic laugh and watches the three ball glide to a stop, short of its mark.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, y'all.
> 
> Concrit welcome. No beta.


End file.
